


TRUST FALL

by Opalescence



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blow Jobs, Community: spnkink_meme, Dirty Talk, Face-Fucking, Gun Violence, Gunplay, M/M, Mind Control, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-14
Updated: 2014-03-14
Packaged: 2018-01-15 15:50:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1310428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Opalescence/pseuds/Opalescence
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gadreel thinks he's doing a favour for Dean by fulfilling the incest fantasy the hunter wished he'd never have to acknowledge. Dean has mixed feelings about the sex -- even before he finds out what Gadreel wants from him in return.</p>
            </blockquote>





	TRUST FALL

**Author's Note:**

> This story is written for [this](http://spnkink-meme.livejournal.com/83218.html?replyto=31244050) Supernatural Kink Meme prompt.  
> It involves physical and emotional violence in a sexual context.  
> Comments and criticism appreciated; I love hearing what people thought of my works. Hope you enjoy.

In the bunker, Dean was never really at ease. Sure, he'd spent most of his adulthood sleeping in unguarded above-ground motel rooms with a bowie knife under his pillow, but at least then it was with Sam or John – family. Now, he was garrisoned in one of the most secure places on Earth along with the imprisoned King of Hell, a disgruntled prophet, and an angel wearing his brother's flesh like a trench coat. Not an environment that you can rest easy in.

So cleaning his guns on his bed, like he was doing now, had gone from a relaxing ritual to a bit of an unpleasant chore. Loading another pistol from the library just-in-case whenever he needed to oil up his .45 Colt felt a little too paranoid even for Dean, but there was something unnerving about being alone in his bedroom with only the demon-killing knife as personal protection. Large-caliber handguns were soothing. Something's coming at you, you shoot it with one of those and it'll stop coming. With a knife, you have to let it get close.

Down the hallway, he could hear footsteps approaching, measured and heavy. Sam's. Seconds later, the door creaked open.

“Don't normally see you up at five A.M., Sam,” Dean said with feigned cheer. “Having another morning jog?”

“Sam's asleep,” Ezekiel's voice said. “I need to talk to you.”

“What's wrong? Is Sam okay?”

“Your brother is fine, Dean. But he is growing wary. You've been acting strange around him – suspicious. Suspicion breeds suspicion.”

Dean stood, went over to his desk, and poured himself a glass of whiskey. He slouched back against the desk, steeling himself for the conversation. “Look, this is a tough act, Zeke, and I'm a crappy actor. You know I'm even more driven than you to keep Sam in the dark here. But you gotta understand, the whole situation is just a bit... unnerving.”

“You don't trust me.”

“I let you _borrow Sam's body_ , okay? That look like distrust to you?”

Ezekiel's voice was calm and low as he approached Dean. “You let me close to you because you need me. But I see how scared you are. You tense when you know I'm around, or even when you expect I might be. Sam is noticing.”

“Yeah. I'm doing what I can, though. You got any better plans?”

“I can help you be more comfortable around me.” Ezekiel was inches from Dean now. Too close. Dean was used to Castiel ignoring his personal bubble like this, so maybe it was an angel thing. But when Cas did it, it felt like his usual social ineptitude – when Zeke did it, it felt like a threat. Dean's right arm twitched, instinctively wanting a knife in hand, but he didn't go for any weapons. How could he?

“Bud, you sound like you're coming onto me.”

And Sam's voice whispered, “ _Would you like that_?”

“Jesus!” Dean yelled and shoved the angel away, and Ezekiel came back at him and Dean raised his fists and he wanted a gun or a knife so bad right now but it was Sam's body and he couldn't draw the knife, and he struggled hard, got Ezekiel good in the solar plexus but the angel recovered fast and Sam's body was bigger than his and stronger and Dean was violently smashed against his desk, pinned down by Sam's weight like a butterfly and Zeke had drawn an angel sword from somewhere and it was at Dean's neck and Dean stopped struggling.

“What happened to that big speech about trust?” Dean's voice cracked as he spoke. “What the hell is this?”

“This is all about trust, Dean,” Sam said – and of course it was Ezekiel, but the vocal intonations, the tone, the attitude, everything was a perfect imitation of his brother.

“Zeke, you know I hate it when you do that voice.”

“I know, Dean.” Sam's smiling face was abruptly Ezekiel's glassy-eyed stare again, and Dean couldn't tell which he found more disconcerting. “You're afraid of not being able to tell if you're talking to me or Sam, right? But right now you know it's me.” Ezekiel wormed the blade down the back of Dean's collar. Layers of shirts were slit and flopped aside, leaving Dean with exposed shoulders and a look of stark terror on his face. “You know Sam wouldn't do this.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you? What kind of sick game are you trying to play? That's my brother!”

“He'll never know unless you tell him, Dean,” Ezekiel said. “We can do whatever you want.” The blade toyed with Dean's armpit, then sliced open the side of his shirt.

“What I want is for you to get off me!”

With a firm hand, Ezekiel peeled the remaining rags of Dean's shirts from his body. Dean looked away in shame as Sam's large hands trailed over his bare torso. He could see the .45 lying on the bed, clean and assembled but not loaded – as if he could use it against his brother even if he had it holstered. One of his sawed offs was there as well, in pieces. He shivered as an unseen hand brushed against one of his nipples, stiff in the cool underground air, and then ran gently down his firm obliques. Had anyone ever touched him like this? He was used to women's light touches, and to being held down and overpowered by strong men, but never this combination.

“I know you love him,” Ezekiel whispered.

“Of course! He's my brother!” Dean thrashed against Ezekiel's hold, to no effect. His eyes were welling with tears.

“You don't love him like a brother.”

“Just tell me, alright? Tell me why you're doing this!” Dean turned over his shoulder in a frantic attempt to read Ezekiel's face, and immediately wished that he hadn't. It was Sam's face behind him, Sam's beatific smile. Sam's sweet green eyes staring back into his. Dean's throat was dry. His younger brother was holding him so tightly, he could feel his taut pecs rubbing against his bare back and his bulge pressing against the seat of his jeans. Sam's warm skin against his warm skin.

Dean's rage dissipated from him like an exhalation.

“It's okay, Dean,” he whispered back, and Dean knew it was Ezekiel, but the voice was Sam's. “It's okay. You don't need to hide anything from me. You've dreamed about this for a long time, right?”

He nodded weakly.

“I'll let you go now,” Sam said. “I trust you not to run, you trust me to give you a good time. Sounds good?”

“You're out of character,” Dean cracked. “Sam wouldn't use such a cheesy line.”

“Sure, Dean,” Sam said. “Then what _would_ I say? You make it sound like you've thought about this a lot.”

“Sam'd be less talk, more action,” Dean said, and the angel wearing Sam's face smiled. His grip on Dean slackened.

“Yeah, that sounds nice. Turn around, Dean. I wanna look into your eyes and see you strip.”

Reluctantly, Dean brushed Sam's arms from his back, turned, and stood. When he saw Sam's smirking face, he had to avert his eyes – he couldn't stand looking at his brother as he unbuttoned his fly and awkwardly shimmied out of his jeans. He knew it must be vindicating for Ezekiel to see the bulge in his briefs.

Now Sam was taking off his flannel, too, barely inches away, and Dean couldn't help but look. Sam's upper torso was sculpted as a Greek statue and nearly as hairless, except for a perfunctory patch of chest hair that led into a downy treasure trail. There was an inch of tanned skin peeking out between his baby brother's too-short undershirt and his low-slung jeans. Noticing Dean's gaze, Sam coyly slipped his hand into the pocket of his jeans, causing his waistband to slip downward. He was wearing nothing underneath his jeans, offering a teasing glimpse at his dense brown pubes and the fat root of his cock.

“Like what you see, Dean?” Sam whispered, running a hand down Dean's bare back. God, he was so close.

“Y-yeah,” Dean said, softly, and Sam leaned down and their lips met.

It was so different, Dean thought, to kiss someone taller and stronger than him (trying not to think that it was so different to kiss a _man_ , to kiss his _younger brother_.) Sam's skin was warm and firm against his. His mouth tasted clean, neutral flesh with just a touch of mint, so clean that Dean felt a twinge of embarrassment about his own whisky breath. He couldn't remember the last time he felt as relaxed as he did now, limp and pliant in his brother's strong arms. Dean wasn't a small man, but Sam only needed one arm around his shoulders to hold him tight, and Dean let out a small moan as Sam's other hand slipped under the waistband of his briefs and began kneading his ass. The embrace was suffocating. He clung to Sam's muscular body like a drowning man clinging to an oar.

Sam broke away from the kiss a second to nibble on Dean's ear. He whispered: “Want me to suck you off?”

“Hell no!” Dean spat, and Sam laughed.

“Right. Guess you don't want your little brother waking up with the taste of your cum in his mouth. Then... you wanna suck me off?”

Dean didn't answer, but he didn't refuse.

They kissed again, and when they broke off Sam pushed Dean's head downwards gently, guiding him. Dean's fingernails dug into Sam's back as he ran his tongue down his brother's body, worshipping his ripped muscles. They'd both worked up a mild sweat during their struggle, and Sam's flesh tasted of musk and salt as Dean lapped at at his jutting collarbones and smooth, rounded pecs, stopping for a second to nip at one pert nipple, then moving downwards to his ultimate goal. Sam unzipped his fly and Dean had to pause a second to marvel at the first part of his brother he'd never seen before.

Sam's stiff, sweaty cock was slightly longer than Dean's and much thicker, and Dean felt like he should be embarrassed about that instead of turned on. Its veiny head was already oozing clear fluid. He wrapped his lips around it tentatively.

“C'mon, Dean. I know you've seen a lot of porn. Get it all wet first, then you can take it easier.”

Chastised, Dean took his brother's penis in hand and worked up some spit in his mouth.

“Look up at me, too. I wanna see your face as you suck your first dick.”

Dean was almost flushing from embarrassment and arousal now. His other hand was shoved down briefs damped with pre as he stroked and drooled on Sam's cock. Sam's words reminded him of shots in pornos he'd loved, point-of-view shots of a girl sucking the “viewer's” dick as an off-camera voice degraded her. He'd jerked off to those a few times. Always imagined himself as the guy in the film, though. Never fantasized about his little brother fucking him like a porn star. Not that he'd never fantasized about his little brother fucking him. It just hadn't been like this.

This was good, though.

When Sam's cock was suitably lubricated, he pressed it gently against Dean's lips, and Dean kept his fist wrapped around the base as he opened his mouth and took it in. Sam's skin was velvet between his lips. Their eyes were still locked on each others' as Dean began to move, wrapping his tongue around his brother's dick, licking down the sides and around the base of his cut head, paying special attention to his salty urethral opening.

“Fuck, Dean, that's good,” Sam gasped. “Sure you've never done this before?”

Dean gave Sam a playful glare and continued his work, as his brother buried a hand in his hair, guiding him, and setting the pace. Dean's ministrations were clearly taking effect, as he could feel Sam's dick swell and tighten between his lips. He moved his hand off Sam's erection to cradle his heavy sack, and Sam let out a moan of pleasure. His guiding hand began pushing Dean's head further into his groin with each thrust, making Dean gag on his massive cock.

“Mmm, you're perfect, Dean. You're enjoying this, aren't you?” Sam asked. “Relaxing, isn't it? You like having me here, taking care of everything? Making you feel good?” Dean nodded frantically in between thrusts, and Sam sped up, fucking his big brother's face deeper until Dean's nose was buried in his musky pubes and he was trying his hardest not to puke from having something so huge rammed down his inexperienced throat.

“Feels safe, doesn't it?” Sam said, in between heavy breaths – he was remarkably composed for someone on the verge of orgasm, and Dean tried not to think too hard about why. “The things I can do for you when you lie back and trust me?”

Dean whimpered something that sounded like a “yes,” but was muffled by the cock in his mouth. His own dick was rock-hard and painfully neglected as both his hands were gripping Sam's ass, trying desperately to control the still-quickening pace at which Sam was raping his mouth. The tang of dick sweat and pre-come was overwhelming. Feeling Sam's balls tighten, he mentally girded himself for what was to follow – and seconds later, Sam shuddered and pulled Dean close with all his strength, and the tangy taste was overwhelmed with with bitterness. When he released him, Dean collapsed to the floor, dazed and panting. His lips parted slightly and a trail of his brother's spunk streamed down his chin and onto the hardwood.

“Be a good boy and take care of your mess, Dean,” Sam said quietly, and Dean swallowed hard, then obediently fell to all fours and licked the droplets of jism from the floor. He was vaguely conscious of the fact that he was spreading his legs unnecessarily wide, arching his back, exposing his ass in the air. Posing to be fucked. Instinctively, he reached back with one hand and pulled down his now-sweaty briefs, freeing his needy cock and exposing his virgin ass to Sam.

“You wanna take it in the ass, too, Dean?” Sam laughed. “When we just had our first kiss today? I think we can save that for another day. But I'll finish you off, okay?” He sat down on the floor beside his humiliated older brother. “Sit on my lap, okay?”

Dean complied. In this position, he could feel Sam's flaccid cock rubbing against his thighs, inches from his exposed asshole. He was rock stiff, and it didn't even embarrass him that Sam didn't even have to spend a full minute jacking him off before he came noisily in his hand – nor did he object when Sam roughly shoved his cum-smeared fingers into Dean's mouth, telling him to “clean up his mess again.”

Spent, he lay in Sam's lap for minutes. No, Ezekiel's lap. Dean's mind was blank. He'd just been swept away by the best sex of his life and he didn't have the mental energy to face all the ramifications of their encounter. He didn't want to acknowledge that he'd just been raped by his brother – or raped his brother, depending on how you spun it. Burying moral qualms was a familiar practice to Dean, so it was easy for him now to just relax, cradled in Sam's strong arms.

“Was that fun for you, Dean?” Ezekiel asked, quietly.

“Yeah.”

“Do you feel safer around me now?”

“I don't know,” Dean answered. “Don't ask me that.”

“That's fine, Dean. Thank you for your honesty. Now sit up and get on the bed. I want to play a game with you.”

It was easy for him to go on autopilot. To do what he was told. As Dean sat down next to the disassembled sawed off, Ezekiel took the .45 from the bed.

“It's okay, Dean. It's going to be okay.” Ezekiel repeated as he loaded the gun, and Dean noticed his own body trembling. Funny. He couldn't tell whether or not he was scared.

“This is the game, Dean. It's a trust exercise. It'll help you let go of your need to control the situation. I'm going to shoot you with this gun. Then I'm going to heal you. It will hurt a lot for a few seconds, and then it will feel good. Okay?”

“Doesn't sound like much of a game,” Dean said. His voice wavered with unidentifiable emotions.

“You win if you don't flinch. Are you ready?”

“Not really. No.”

“I am,” Ezekiel said, and shot him in the chest.

Dean crumpled onto the bed. The shock nearly blinded him, pain blanking out his world like sheet lightning. There was hot blood running down his bare chest. Hot tears running down his face. Drawing breath was an ordeal. His vision swam into focus for a second and then began to fade again.

“F-fuck you --” he wheezed, and as his body grew weak. He could feel hands on his chest. Fingers _in_ his chest. Ezekiel was fishing the bullet out of the hole. A deranged thought wafted through Dean's head: _five minutes ago I wanted him inside me._ He would have laughed through the agony but his lungs couldn't hold the air to do it. His thoughts were leaving him.

And then Dean was warm and dry and in Sam's – no, Ezekiel's – arms. The pain was gone, replaced by a pleasure that was even better than postcoital. His body was surging with adrenaline as though he'd just come home triumphant from the hunt. Renewed.

“That was fine, wasn't it?” Ezekiel asked, soothingly.

“That wasn't great.” Dean growled.

“You didn't think I was going to save you.”

“I didn't know what to think.”

“I understand, Dean. Are you ready for the second round?”

“Y'know, I don't think I want to play a second round.”

“But will you? For me?” Ezekiel's words gave Dean pause. “We're going to keep playing this game until you win, Dean. I fulfilled your fantasies, and now you get to repay the favour. It'll be good for you, too. You'll be a better hunter if you can control your fight-or-flight reflexes like this.”

“And what are you getting out of this?” Dean asked.

In response, Ezekiel shot him a second time.

It didn't feel any better than the first time. Dean curled fetally in Ezekiel's lap. The pain was subsuming his entire world. He could feel Ezekiel embracing him, stroking him tenderly. Ezekiel's heartbeat was slow and steady against him. His own was fast, erratic, meaningless.

“Please, Zeke... heal me...” he gasped. Hearing himself beg for his own life disgusted him, but if this was the game Ezekiel was playing, he'd play along. His pride wasn't worth dying for, if dying meant abandoning Sam in Ezekiel's clutches. But Ezekiel just held him tight and whispered words that he was too messed up from blood loss to even register. As his vision faded and his grasp on reality loosened, Dean almost forgot that he was lying in his killer's arms. In his mind, he was dying in the line of duty, in his brother's embrace, and his brother was proud of him. He slipped into unconsciousness with a smile.

When he came to, pumped full of angelic grace, Dean immediately turned to Ezekiel and said: “Did I win the game this time?”

Ezekiel shook his head. “You did better this time, Dean. But not quite. You begged me. That tells me you doubted that I would save you.”

“Are you kidding me? Look, I've done everything you asked. I  played your whole Max Hardcore game, okay? What more do you want?”

Ezekiel smiled  and gripped him closer in his arms. “ The sex wasn't what I wanted at all, Dean,”  he whispered in Dean's ear. “It's what  _ you _ wanted. I can read minds, remember? I know that you  dream about Sam forcing you to do things  that you'd never dare ask him to let you do. No, I want what I told you I wanted. I want you to  calm down  around me,  not be constantly suspicious. ”

“And you think fucking me and shooting me is going to accomplish that?”  .

“You don't understand, Dean. After you pass the test, I'm going to wipe your memory. You won't  consciously  recall any details of this encounter. But  subconsciously,  you will remember being  in great pain, and trusting me, and feeling me heal you. And you'll remember how I fulfilled your fantasy. And then, a few days later, we'll do the same things all over again. And you'll forget it again. We'll have a whole relationship that your mind won't acknowledge, but your  soul will recognize.  Y ou'll  learn to trust somebody other than your brother. You'll learn  that I am on your side.”

“Doesn't sound like something someone on my side'd do,” Dean said. He was scowling but his eyes were damp with tears.

“I do this all out of love.  A year from now, you'll thank me.”

“A year from now? ...And what happens to Sam?”

“Sam lives on as normal. Maybe he learns that he's my vessel, and adapts. Maybe he doesn't have to know, and I'm just riding along, giving you the things Sam never gave you. Maybe our relationship gives you the courage to ask him to fulfil your fantasies.”

“You're going to brainwash me into-- into having sex with my brother.”

“You just had sex with your brother, Dean. Enthusiastically. I don't think you need to worry about that.”

“J-jesus. I \--  look, alright, alright!” Dean tried to sound strong, but  it was hard with tears rolling down his face. H e couldn't stop his voice from cracking. “I'm ready, Zeke. I'm ready now. Just... just shoot me.”

“Are you sure you're alright, Dean?”

“Yeah.”

“ Are you ready to trust me?”

“I've – I've done what you said.  I'm letting go of my need to control the situation.”

“That's the first step, at least,” Ezekiel said, smiling. “I understand it's hard, Dean. I'm proud of you.” He raised the pistol to Dean's lips and Dean took it in his mouth, blankly. “That's good. Move it around.  The barrel  should point sideways into your cheek, not  at your brain or spine. It'll hurt less if you don't flinch.” Dean obeyed. He didn't think about it. It was easier if he didn't think about it. He lay naked in his brother's lap, gun in his mouth.

He wasn't going to flinch this time.

 

 


End file.
